Coincidences
by Jojo6
Summary: "Was that who I think it is?" "Yeah. Hell of a coincidence, isn't it?" Logan/Rogue-ish. No spoilers for X2.


Titles: Coincidences 

Author: Jojo 

Email: randomleaves@yahoo.co.uk 

Disclaimer: Not mine. 

Rating: PG 

Spoilers: None. 

Summary: "Was that who I think it is?" "Yeah. Hell of a coincidence, isn't it?" 

A/N: Thank you Melly!  


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"Rogue?"

Stopping short, the tip of a gloved index finger in my mouth as the man in front of me stared, I searched for my voice. I bit down on the glove almost automatically and pulled, the material sliding from my skin easily the way it always did these days, thanks to custom designers. It dropped into my outstretched hand and I instinctively shoved the bare hand and glove into a pocket. "Wolverine?"

"Shit." He threw down a bunch of bills, glancing casually up at the barman to confirm something, before pulling away from the bar and approaching me. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I..." I shook my head – there had to be rules for this sort of thing, something I could say that wouldn't sound cliché. Some kind of procedure. What did you say to a man who, until four years before, had been a key personality in your life? A man who had walked out of your life as easily as he had walked in? 

A man who had, for all intents and purposes, ripped out your teenage heart and jumped on it a couple of times with all the care and finesse of an animal.

A man who was, you know, standing right in front of you.

There were days when I convinced myself I had forgotten about him, that he was no longer anything to me. In fact, there would be months when I genuinely wouldn't think about him, when certain smells wouldn't suddenly be evocative of him, when I could look at a man and not judge him by the Wolverine's standards. 

Today hadn't been one of those days. Today, I had woken up with his eyes at the forefront of my imagination. I could hear the jangle of the dog tags long since returned to him. Hell, I could all but smell him and my Logan-senses had dropped off my radar years ago.

Essentially, I woke up horny as hell and while my husband appreciated the early-morning wakeup I was so ready to offer him – complete with silk scarves and inventive underwear – he hadn't been too thrilled when I called out the wrong name at a particularly passionate point during the activities.

"Rogue?"

Oh yeah. The Wolverine. Logan. "Mission." I thumbed the entrance over my shoulder, as if that would explain everything. It didn't but it wasn't like he really wanted to know; he was just asking reactively – mostly he was pissed off that he had been found.

He jammed his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and scowled at me. It wasn't an affectionate scowl. It was a what-the-fuck-am-I-supposed-to-do-now scowl. "You shouldn't be in here."

Here was a bar. A bar in the middle of nowhere. 

Here was actually the first sign of civilization I had come across once my supremely pissed husband had dumped my ass in the middle of nowhere and told me to make my own way back home.

Yeah – the day had started off crap and pretty much gone down the hill from there. 

"Er... and why would that be?" I asked, wondering if it would be rude to order a beer while Logan was grilling me. I decided it wouldn't be – and since I was pretty dehydrated it was probably for the best. Didn't want to pass out at his feet. I was fairly sure he wouldn't get a kick out of that. Logan didn't go for the swooning types.

I sidled up to the bar, careful to not actually touch it. I'd seen the guy at the end, drooling in his sleep. "Beer, please."

"No," Logan interrupted gruffly, holding up a hand to the barman. "What the hell do you think you're doing? She'll have a water."

Not used to men overruling me, I blinked at him a little distractedly. "Ah, no, I won't." I fixed the barman a look that had withered stronger men. "A beer. Do you have any pretzels?"

The barman nodded eagerly. "Sure, sweetheart."

"Uh, she's *underage*."

"Logan!" My mouth literally dropped open.

The barman, who had probably never ID'd anyone in his entire working life, glanced at me nervously. I had no doubt that having watched Logan in that cage in the back earlier, he was distinctly uncomfortable with disagreeing with the Wolverine. "Miss, do you have any ID?"

"Certainly." Smiling tightly, I whipped out my wallet and flung several forms of ID onto the bar, wincing when I heard the distinct sticking sound when the barman lifted one off and glanced at it. He nodded in satisfaction and I handed him some money before picking up the cards again. "I'm pretty sure twenty-one is still the legal age for drinking, Logan, and since I'm twenty-three now..."

"Twenty-three? You're..." He stopped talking, his eyes flickering over her face as he thought. "Damn, has it been that long?"

I slid the wallet back into a pocket. "What? In your head, I'm still eighteen? Worse, sixteen?" I couldn't help the slightly bitter laugh that escaped. It was confirmation of every fear I'd had since the first time he'd left – that I would be eternally sweet sixteen. Forever destined to occupy that place in his heart for defenseless little girls who needed rescuing. 

Fucking fantastic, in other words.

Logan shifted and leaned against the bar, watching as my beer was put in front of me and a bowl of no doubt stale pretzels pushed down the bar towards the beer. "I just lost track of time, that's all."

I guessed that could be the truth. For a guy who never aged, time was of little importance, particularly when he apparently had nowhere to go and no one to depend on him. And he'd made damn sure about the depending-on-him part.

"Rogue, what are you doing here?"

I let the beer come away from lips with a pop and swallowed. Obviously, I'd been wrong. He really did want to know why I was here. How sweet! Or not. "Er, didn't I say? Mission. Nearby."

I wasn't really all that keen on revealing to him my husband's latest ploy to piss me off. It was kind of embarrassing, actually – it was bad enough when we (yes, I could admit I did it too) acted like children at home, it was worse when we did it in front of strangers. Or, nearly strangers in this case. 

"Last thing I knew, X-Men didn't drop by local bars on missions." Logan tapped his long fingers on the bar impatiently, unconsciously reminding me of what lay under his skin. "Hell, there is nowhere 'nearby', anyways."

"Yeah, that is a problem. You got a ride?" I hoped to distract him.

Logan smirked and tilted his head to the side. "If you mean a car..."

Shit, I was blushing. Who knew I could still blush? "No, Logan, I was asking after your sex life. What do you *think* I meant?"

He grinned proudly.

Sexist pig.

"I do, yeah. You need a ride, Rogue?" he asked in a suggestively low voice.

Good God Almighty, was he *flirting* with me?

Almost before I'd thought it, the same concept seemed to cross his mind and he straightened abruptly, any remotely non-fraternal or paternal emotions being carefully squashed.

Damn.

"Seriously, how did you get here?"

Picking up the beer again, I wandered over to a table, hoping he'd follow me. I wasn't about to give out the details of the mission knowing the barman and a couple of doped up looking guys were listening in. The bar was nearly empty but that only meant our voices would carry further.

Luckily, Logan seemed to be in the mood for humoring me and he slid onto the bench on the other side of the booth and propped himself up. "Well?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "The Blackbird dropped us off."

"Us?"

"Me'n'Bobby," I said quickly.

"Bobby? You and *Bobby*? The kid with the cold fingers?" he hissed across the table.

"Uh *yeah*."

"They sent you and Bobby on a mission? But you're just..."

"Time passed. Remember Logan? Time? Passes. Twenty-three and twenty-four respectively," I told him, keen to ram this point home. The guy was going to have to get it some day. "So... where've you been?"

"Don't change the subject."

Damn. "Okay, so me and Bobby got separated..."

"*How*?"

"Er... we had a little fight..." I gestured with my thumb and index finger. "Very little."

"Oh shit."

Yeah, this wasn't going to look good on the whole 'I've grown up' front, was it? "It's nothing like that, Logan."

It was more of a case of 'I used my husband to get off while thinking about you and he's somewhat understandably angry about it', but there was just no way in hell I was bringing that subject up, oh no. 

"So he dumped you."

"No!"

Logan stared at me unblinking for a moment and I shifted uncomfortably. Honestly, only Professor Xavier made me squirm this way. God. And he hadn't made me squirm for ages. Not since, you know, me and Bobby had returned from Vegas.

"Okay, in essence... yes." I picked up my beer and gulped down a couple of swallows. 

"The little prick," Logan muttered.

I nearly spat the beer across the table. "Actually, that's not true," I said, snorting and putting the beer down before reaching for a pretzel I'd snagged from the bowl on the bar. I was right, they were stale, but I was pretty hungry and judging from my sudden immature sense of humor, the beer was getting to me quicker than it ought to be.

"Oh really?" The suggestion was back in his voice again and he snatched my beer for a quick drink. "So you did work something out, then?"

Snagging the beer back and holding it against my lips, I smiled tightly. "You could say that. So, Logan, what have you been up to?" I asked brightly.

"Fightin', drinkin'..."

"Womanizin'?" I added knowingly.

"Jeez, kid, it's not like that."

"Please, Logan. I've had you in my head. I know *exactly* what it's like." Boy, did I ever.

If he'd been a man who could be embarrassed, he would have flushed. Instead, Logan just smiled proudly and broke one of my pretzels in half. "How's the hero business?"

"Busy. We expanded the school."

"Expanded?"

"Yeah. Our youngest students now range from six years old."

"No kidding? Shit. What a riot," he said sarcastically, obviously not thrilled with the prospect. I wondered if I'd put him off returning still further. Go me. "What about Magneto?"

"Haven't heard from him in a while," I admitted, turning the bottle around with my bare fingers, catching the drops of water that were running down the sides. "The Professor thinks he's planning something."

"He's always planning something."

A lull in the conversation had me wondering why he hadn't asked about Jean yet – he had to be wondering about her. I knew how he felt about her, after all. I could remember it, clear as day. Not from the first two times he'd touched me – that had just been good old Wolverine lust back then. Nothing to worry sixteen year old Marie overly, particularly when I had compared that feeling to every feeling he'd had for a woman before and realized that it was the same. No, the *third* time he'd touched me, I'd seen something else.

The Wolverine had a thing for Ms. Jean Grey. 

Unfortunately for me, at the time of this third mutation sucking occasion, Logan had been kissing me and either he hadn't thought it through or he really did want me to know first hand how he felt about Jean. I suspect it was the latter. After all, the only reason for the kiss had been that Jean and Scott had just announced the wedding date and he was intentionally trying to piss off Jean. And the handy thing about me was that a guy could use me this way and not need to give me a reason because I'd sure as hell know the moment my skin reacted to his.

"Jean's fine, Logan," I said, finally, fixing a look on the neck of my beer bottle.

"I didn't ask about her."

"Yes, I noticed that. Very subtle, Logan."

"Shut up and gimme that," he growled, grabbing the beer.

I smiled. "The wedding was beautiful, Logan. I was a bridesmaid, you know."

He took a long drink. "Didn't I tell you to shut up?"

"I wore a really sweet green dress. I still wear the shoes on occasion. Jean has good taste." Was it bad of me to really enjoy telling him this? I guess it was. But then he deserved it.

"Rogue, knock it off."

"Oh, well, it was fun while it lasted." I frowned as something nearby start beeping. "Is that you?"

"No, kid, it's your jacket." Logan nodded his head to the top pocket.

"Oh!" I pulled the new communicator out and looked at it. "Okay, we only just got these things and I skipped the 'lesson' Scott gave on how to work them."

Logan snorted with genuine amusement. "Scott gives you *lessons*?"

"Hell, yeah." I investigated the little silver blob, looking for a way to get it stop bleeping and, hopefully, talk to someone. "You'd think once I'd graduated and became an X-Man, I'd get out of this lesson crap. But, oh no. Lessons on flying the Blackbird, lessons in combat training, lessons in the Danger Room. Oh, this looks like an 'on' button." I pressed it and jumped as something slid out. "Er hello?"

"Rogue?"

The voice was small, so I put it to my ear, much to the amusement of Logan who was still drinking my beer. "Yeah, it's me."

"Rogue, it's Scott. We're coming to get you."

I closed my eyes in relief. "Thank God."

"You're okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Is Bobby with you?" I asked, my voice sweet. 

"No. He's driving back to New York."

I smiled at the tone in Scott's voice. "Do I take it you refused to pick him up?"

"There's no excuse for abandoning you, Rogue. Whatever you did."

I wanted to take offense at that but my common sense wouldn't allow it. Instead, I grunted. "When will you be here?"

"Half an hour. Is there somewhere safe you can wait?"

Looking at Logan, who was checking out the TV over the bar, I nodded. "Yeah. I've found somewhere safe. Thanks, Scott."

"You are never going on a mission with Bobby again."

"No, sir," I sighed, sensing this wasn't the end of that conversation. No doubt the Professor would want to 'talk' with them when she got back. "Bye, Scott."

I hung up. Or, rather, Scott hung up and the communicator sort of folded into itself in my hand. Cute. 

One day, I really ought to find out how to call someone on it.

"Someone's gonna get their ass kicked when they get home."

"Looks that way." I tucked the communicator back into my pocket and then rested my elbows on the table. I rubbed the tired muscles of my face with my fingers. "I can't believe he left me here like that. Something could have happened to me. There are any number of rebel mutants wandering around the country. What if I'd been attacked? My mutantcy isn't like Jean's or Scott's. I can't do shit unless I get my hands on a person and I'd be no match for some super-mutant."

Pulling my hands away from my face, I was surprised to see Logan's expression was no longer one of amusement, but one of irascible fury.

"I'm gonna kill him," Logan snapped, putting the bottle down sharply. 

"Not before I do," I replied, beaming falsely at him. "'Sides, I know where to hit him best."

"The balls?"

"No," I reached for my beer, "I'll refuse him his husbandly privileges for an unspecified length of time."

Logan froze – and when Logan froze, he really did *freeze*. Still as a rock, he stared at me. "What did you just say?" he asked, his voice low and cold. 

I was entertained by the look on his face. "Scott and Jeannie aren't the only ones who got married," I informed him, somewhat smug. I liked surprising him; he was usually so hard to shock. "Me and Bobby got hitched a couple of years ago. Ran off to Vegas with Jubes and Kurt as witnesses."

Uncomprehending, Logan stared at me. "You married the Snowflake."

Smirking, I lifted the beer to my lips. "That's a cute name. I'll remember that one."

"You married him."

"Yes, Logan, I did." Sighing, I put down the beer and began to pull my other glove off. I waggled my ring finger in Logan's face, showing him the little diamond and turquoise engagement ring and the plain silver wedding band. "Mrs. Robert Drake at your service."

"And he... he leaves you in the middle of nowhere. I'm gonna kill him."

Shit, this wasn't jealousy, this was that whole protect-the-kid thing, wasn't it? Though, I'd like to point out that he had very nearly left me in the middle of nowhere once. Admittedly, we hadn't been married and we'd been complete strangers and even then he'd stopped to pick me up, but that's not the point. "Yeah, yeah, I heard. But unless you're going to come back with me and Scott, you've got a long drive." I checked my watch and began to slide towards the edge of the bench. "I better get outside. Don't want Scott to have to come and look for me."

I was pleased when Logan followed me out – at least, it showed he cared enough to stand with me while I waited for my ride. The car lot was pretty empty – I suspected the small trailer at the bottom right hand corner was Logan's and that fit with the whole image I had of him going back to his old ways.

I slid onto a sturdy wooden fence surrounding a field and swung my legs. Logan leaned against the fence near me, muttering to himself.

I couldn't quite make out what he was saying but I was sure it wasn't complimentary. Since he wasn't looking at me as he muttered, it gave me an opportunity to really check him out. He hadn't changed a bit – from those distinctive tufts of hair down to the scuffed boots on his feet, every inch of him was the same. The well-worn blue jeans, molded perfectly to his hips and thighs, told me he was just as toned as he had been last I'd seen him. His hair was the same color, the style the same, no extra lines around his face. Damn, Logan even smelt the same – cigars and beer, sex and sweat. Blood and iron. 

Closing my eyes, I took in the image of him, leaning against that fence and talking to himself. I took it in and held it inside, memorizing every inch of him for future reference. I had no doubt that as soon as Scott picked me up, it would be another few years before I saw him again and I needed my Logan fix.

I felt the Blackbird sweep in to hover over the car lot – my hair was whipping back from my face. Wobbling on the fence resulted in Logan grabbing hold of my thigh and holding on. Above the noise, the wind, I could focus so easily on the feel of his warm fingers gripping my thigh, knew I would have bruises later, knew I was looking forward to it, knew that later I would rest my fingertips over my flesh and remember.

Sometimes, I really felt sorry for Bobby.

The Blackbird landed, the engines cut out. A couple of people from the bar had stumbled out to gaze in shock at the piece of high tech machinery that had chosen to land in the car lot and I imagined they would wake up the next morning and wonder if it had all been a dream.

I slid down onto the ground and turned to face the man who had unintentionally brought me to this life. "Thanks, Logan."

"No problem." He smirked at the Blackbird, then at me. "It was... nice to see you."

"Ditto." 

We stared at each other uncomfortably. I didn't think it would be too weird to lean forward and hug him – he was a friend. Of sorts.

Jerkily, I stepped forward and pressed myself up against him for a very short second, long enough for me to feel the warm imprint of him all over my body. I felt hands tug at my jacket lightly and then I pulled back and his hands dropped to his sides. And, as casually as possible, I walked away, my bare hands trembling as I approached the ramp. I could see Scott, standing at the top with his arms crossed and knew without looking at his face that he was disapproving. 

"Was that who I think it was?" he demanded as I walked up the ramp towards him.

"Yeah. Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?" I replied.

Scott turned his head and looked through one of the windows, his visor glinting in the lights of the Blackbird. Unlike Logan, Scott had aged in the past four years. It wasn't as if life was easy as an X-Man – Scott was healthy but stress had etched light lines around his mouth.

Outside, Logan hadn't moved, still lounging casually against the fence. "What did he say to you?" He hit the button to pull the ramp up and walked back to the controls.

"Nothing much. Same old Logan," I replied, dropping into the second pilot's chair and staring down at the controls because I knew otherwise I'd be looking longingly out of the window. "Where's Jean?"

"With Bobby."

I grunted and strapped in as Scott started the procedure for take-off. "Did he say anything?"

"Nope."

"Good." At least, for the time being, our private business was still private. Though, in a small community like the mansion, it never stayed that way for very long.

The Blackbird began to rise and I leaned back as the faint vestiges of the fear Logan felt of flying tickled me inside my brain. I pushed it aside and focused on Marie, who had always loved flying, while my fingers worried my wedding rings. Without realizing it, I leaned forward to look down at the still visible Logan. He was holding something in his hands, but we were now too far away to see anything, and getting further away by the second. I would have to stand up to see him, and that would be too obvious. Scott, no doubt, had heard the arguments between me and Bobby and Logan's effect on me wouldn't go unnoticed.

"Rogue?"

I slumped back in my seat. "Yeah?"

"Where are your gloves?"

"They're..." I pushed my bare hands into my pockets, searching and came up with nothing. I pulled my hands out and looked at them. "I must have dropped them," I lied.

Scott flew us home.

-end-   
  


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